Chaos Theory
by arualms
Summary: AU version of The Cliffhanger. Ryan does not go up the cliff and Johnny is not the only one who falls. Warning: not for MA shippers or Marissa lovers.
1. Chapter 1

disclaimer: Own nothing, dont sue.

AN: "The Cliffhanger", my version. Not beta'd, so all mistakes are mine.

**Chaos theory**

Ryan couldn't believe this was happening. One minute ago, Marissa had told him that he was the one she wanted, and now they were on their way to save Johnny -again. To be fair, Kaitlin had sounded really scared, but still- couldn't she have called someone else for help?

Now he was forced to think again. Think about the reality that no matter how much Marissa had proclaimed to want him, it didn't change the fact she apparently wanted Johnny as well. That was the whole problem, wasn't it? She wanted him, wanted the security he provided by always being there for her when she needed him, wanted the familiarity that had developed between the two of them.

But she also wanted Johnny, wanted someone who provided the danger she craved. Something that he was no longer willing to give her. He wanted to get over it, wanted to become better than the boy he used to be who solved all his problems with his fists, but she wasn't willing to let that boy go. And no matter if she understood it or not, there was a difference between him sometimes not being able to controle his temper, and her needing someone who was troubled so that she could feel like a good samaritan.

Bringing the car to a halt at the beach, he wondered when he had become so cynic. But then, growing up the way he had and living the live he did could do that to a person.

He could see Johnny standing high up on the cliff, and if what Kaitlin had said about him being drunk was true, then the boy was standing far to close to the edge. He pushed the car door open and wanted to sprint of towards the cliff when Marissa's hand on his shoulder held him back.

"Ryan, no. If you go up there, it's only going to get worse. You're the reason I said no to him, you're the reason he is up there. If he is going to listen to anyone, it's going to be me."

Before he could reply, she had already taken off. Considering that there wasn't anything he could do to change her mind and thinking that she might actually be right, he ran down the beach to Kaitlin, who was screaming at Johnny to get away from the edge.

"Kaitlin, stop it. He's not going to listen to you. Marissa is up there, she's going to calm him down." He akwardly placed his hand on her back, not used to physically comforting others but not wanting to see her this upset.

The girl swirled around abruptly. "Ryan? What are you doing down here? Why aren't you up there with Johnny, you're supposed to stop him."

He decided that this probably wasn't the right time to complain about thefact that he was always the one expected to save the day and instead focused on calming the girl down. "Johnny doesn't even like me, I'm not the right person to talk to him. Marissa is his friend, she will..."

Loud yelling from the top of the cliff interrupted him. "Don't you see, Marissa? You and me, we fit. How could you choose him instead of me? He doesn't deserve you. **We** are supposed to be together!"

He refused to get the drunk boys rambling get to him. He was delusional, that was all. Marissa's response was not loud enough to be understandable, but the tone of her voice betrayed her growing panic. Johnny seemed to be rather shaky and he was still far to close to the edge.

"What is she doing?" Kaitlin voiced the question he had been asking himself when he saw Marissa stepping closer to Johnny and stretching out her hand. She was still talking. Whatever she said seemed to actually work, because Johnny took her outstreched hand in his own.

He was about the breath out in relief- he didn't like the guy, but that didn't mean that he wanted something to happen to him- when suddenly a scream tore through the air. It happened to fast for Ryan to actually see, but a second later he heard a sickening "thumb" and the sound of a bottle splittering on the cliffs. Neither Johnny nor Marissa was anywhere to be seen.

* * *

It took some time- he couldn't have said if seconds or hours- for him to realize that the loud sound beside him was Kaitlin screaming. Her struggle to break free from his arms alerted him to the fact that he was apparently holding her tight. For some reason, he couldn't seem to let her go.

Another minute or so and the fog around his brain lifted enough for him to actually realize what had happened. Within second, he turned from frozen in shock to frantic, overwhelmed with the sudden adrinaline rush and the need to do something, anything.

"Kaitlin" when she didn't interrupt her wordless screaming, he took her face in his hands and turned her so she would look him in the eyes "Kaitlin!" That worked. "You need to call 911. Stay here and wait for the paramedics, ok?"

"Where, where will you be?" For the first time ever, Kaitlin actually sounded like a young girl instead of someone pretending to be a grown up. The fear in her eyes was painful to see, but right now he didn't have time to console her. He had to get to Marissa.

"I'll go to them, see if I can help them somehow." That said, he turned his back to her and started running.

The further away from Kaitlin he was, the more overwhelming his panic became.

He needed to get to Marissa. She might need help. Johnny was there, too. He needed to help. What do you do if someone fell off a cliff? He had to do something. His girlfriend had just fallen off a cliff, he had to help her. Fatser, he had to run faster. Why was she so far away?

"Marissa?" he screamed "Marissa? Marissa, where are you?"

Stupid question, he knew where she was. If you fall of a cliff, you fall straight down. Simple, gravity will make sure of it, unless there were other factors to consider, but the wind wasn't too strong and...god, was he really thinking about physics?

"Marissa!" he yelled once more, and again there was no response. But he didn't need one.

He stopped abruptly, about twenty feet away from them. Johnny and Marissa were both lying motionless on the ground. Falling back into his run, he reached Marissa within seconds, falling on his knees beside her.

"Marissa?" he asked frantically, trying not to think about the wierd angle of her legs and arms. Broken limbs heal. He would just have to take care of her for a while. "Marissa?" Still no reaction.

The sickenening smell was what alerted him to the blood. There was so much of it. He had never seen so much blood, not even when Trey...This was to much blood. He had to still the bleeding before she lost more.

Drawing in a shaky breath, Ryan tried to figure out where it was comming from. He shivered at the realisation that she was bleeding from several wounds, but the main wound semed to be on the back of her head. Would lifting her head to put pressure on the wound cause further injury? You are not supposed to muove a person with a severe head- injury. Was Marissas injury severe? He had to stop the bleeding.

Decision made, he carefully lifted her head. "It's just me. I'm going to take care of you, ok?" Pressing his hand against the deep cut, he tried to ignore the smell of the blood, tried not to notice the way the warm liquid seemed to make his fingers stick together. He just craddled her head in his lap, carefully caressing her face and mumbling nonsensical reassurances. Everything would be alright.

* * *

When Ryan woke up, he had no idea where he was. There was a wierd beeping sound to his left, and everything smelled like desinfectant. He attemted to lift his hand to rub the sleep out of his closed eyes and was suddenly wide awake when he realized that he couldn't move his hand.

Ryan snapped his eyes open and at the same time that the beeping sound by his side picked up speed, he could hear a voice to his other side call his name. Right then though, he really couldn't focus on anything else but the fact that he couldn't move his hands because they were somehow restrained. He lifted his head as far as he could and saw that they were strapped to what seemed to be an iron railing. He wanted to make sense of what was happening, but the need to get out of these restrains was so overwhelming, he couldn't think of anything else. Ryan hated not being able to move.

Ryan was so focused on his useless attempts to free himself, he didn't even hear the first few times his name was called. Then suddenly, in addition to the straps, there were hands holding him in his place. He looked up at the person that the hands belonged to and after a few seconds recognized the face. "Sandy?"

Relief was obvious in the man's face when he answered, even though the worrylines did not disappear and the bags under his eyes made him look incredibly exausted. "Yeah Ryan, it's me."

Ryan opened his mouth to ask what the hell was going on, but before he could say anything, Sandy already interrupted him. "Ryan, I understand that you don't like being strapped to the bed, but right now it is necessary. Do you know where you are?"

Ryans instincts were still telling him to escape, but he forced himself to answer Sandys question instead. "Hospital?" he guessed. Not that it was hard to guess, considering the smell, the bed and the machinery around him. Not to mention that at that moment, a nurse entered the room, rushing over to the machine that was making the noise.

Sandy nodded at Ryan, not showing any kind of reaction to the nurse. "Yes, you are in a hospital. You fought the doctors, that's why they had to restrain you."

"Can you take these of now?" Ryan addressed the nurse. She looked at him and smiled, but shook her head.

"Im sorry, but not yet. The doctor will have to have look at you first. He was called to an emergency, but after that he should come straight here. How about you make use of the time till then and try to calm down a little, ok?"

Ryan didn't like her patronizing tone, but decided to ignore it. There were more pressin matters to deal with. "Why am I here?" He looked at Sandy questioningly. "Did I have an accident?"

Sandy paled considerably and drew in several shallow breaths. "You don't remember?"

Ryan shook his head. Sandys face fell even more, and he seemed to be completely at a loss. He averted his eyes from Ryan and looked at the nurse. "Should I tell him? Is it normal that he doesn't remember? What should I do?"

When the nurse replied, her voice was compasionate. "Mr. Cohen, your son is in shock. The memories will most likely come back on their ownes. 'Till then we shoud complete all the tests we can before the doctor gets here." With those words, she stepped directly beside him. "Ryan, I am going to take a blood sample now, ok?"

Ryan really didn't want to agree, he wanted to know what had happened and he wanted to know it now, but somehow he didn't feel like he had enough energy for a fight. He felt the prick in his arm and turned his head to see the dark liquid being pulled into the vial.

Dark read liquid. Something about this was familliar. And suddenly he remembered.

_"They are over there, they... Oh god, Marissa! NO."_

_"Son, you need to let us take care of her now"_

_"No pulse"_

_"Reanimate?"_

_"No use." _

_"I'm sorry, son."_

_"You need to let go off her now."_

_"Son, there is nothing you can do. You need to let go so we can take her."_

_"Stop fighting, it's no use."_

_"He's not even reacting."_

_"Damn it, that hurt. That's it, we'll have to sedate him. Marcus!"_

_"Hold still!"_

_"That ought to be enough. Sorry son, but you really didn't give us a choice."_

_"Let's carry him to the ambulance, the police can take care of the body."_

Ryan barely had enough time to lean over the bed railing before he got violently sick.

tbc

_you know you want to comment ;)_


	2. Chapter 2

**Chaos Theory - part 2**

disclaimer: Ohcome on, do I really need to say it? We all know I don't own squat.

Ryan hated hospitals. He always had. The smell of disinfectant made him want to hurl, the knowledge that everyone there was either sick or hurt was depressing and there was nothing worse than knowing that people come inside your room at night to check on you. Ryan had always hated hospitals, but when the doctor told him that they wanted to keep him the night for observation, he didn't even try to protest. Hospitals were bad, but going home would have been so much worse.

He didn't want to go back to the pool house, where only hours ago he had been making out with Marissa. He didn't want to think about it, and he certainly didn't want to remember how wrong it had felt. He had still been so mad at her, so fed up with the whole situation. Marissa's "I want you" hadn't done anything to convince him that it was really true.

But in that moment he had given in, tiered of fighting, knowing that he was only delaying the inevitable. Ryan didn't know why, but it seemed as if in the end, he always ended up back with Marissa. He had stopped trying to understand it a while back, accepted it as one of the many rules of life in Newport that didn't make sense but were still followed. So in that moment in the pool house, he had gotten tiered of fighting and had given in to Marissa. Them being together was a rule.

Only now, it was a rule that he would no longer be able to follow. And going back to the pool house would force him to acknowledge that. He didn't want to, so he didn't try to talk the doctors into letting him leave. Sandy seemed relieved.

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He fell asleep again, maybe because of the drugs, maybe because he was exhausted, maybe because sleeping was a way of not thinking. Ryan didn't really care why, didn't have the energy to question what was happening to him. A part of him insisted that it was wrong to hide in his sleep, to hide in a hospital room, but he didn't want to listen to that voice. He had no idea what else he was supposed to be doing, and at least as long as his eyes were closed, Sandy wasn't trying to talk to him.

He did before, but Ryan hadn't been able to give him the answers he wanted. He wasn't sure if he wasn't able to remember or didn't want to remember. It didn't really matter anyway, as the doctor had told Sandy that he needed his rest and not to bother him. Ryan hadn't even had the strength to say something apologetic to his foster father. Instead, he had simply closed his eyes and allowed himself to drift off.

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When Ryan woke up again, Kirsten was sitting next to his bed where Sandy had been before. She tried to smile at him, but he didn't buy it and judging from the pain in her eyes, neither did she. When she took a deep breath as if to ready herself for a long speech, Ryan knew that his break was over.

"Ryan" Her voice was hesitant and soft, as if she was afraid that a louder voice would make him fall over. "I am so sorry."

For a moment, he didn't understand, wanted to remind her that this was what you said to people who lost someone they loved, but then he remembered that Marissa was his girlfriend and he was supposed to love her. He got lost in thought for a second, trying to pinpoint the moment he had stopped and coming up blank. But he didn't want to have this conversation with Kirsten, didn't want to talk to her about his feelings when he had no idea what they were. He tried to come up with a distraction and found one.

"How is Kaitlin?" He really did want to know. The young girl watched her sister fall down a cliff, maybe she even saw her afterwards. That had to be traumatising.

"She's in the hospital, too. They are treating her for post traumatic stress. But Kaitlin isn't my concern right now, you are. Is there anything I can do for you? Anything at all to make this a little less horrible?"

He wanted to tell her no, that he was fine, but stopped himself. For one thing, he was pretty sure that he wasn't supposed to be fine, so his standard reply probably wouldn't have been well received. Also, it seemed like Kirsten really wanted to do something, be useful somehow. This was a need that he could relate to, and he decided to give her what she wanted.

"I am kind of hungry. Do you think you could get me something?" He hated asking her for something like this, hated the thought of her running errands for him when there were bound to be more important things for her to do. But he reminded himself that she wanted this, and if the new determination in her face was any indication, she really did.

"Of course, honey. I'll be back as soon as possible, ok?" She pushed back her chair, both of them cringing at the sound it made while sliding over the laminate floor, and left the room. The clicking of her heels somehow seemed to echo even after she had left.

He closed his eyes again, willing himself back into oblivion, but this time it didn't work. It seemed as if right now, there was nothing to keep him from thinking, from remembering.

The smell of blood had been overwhelming, a sickening sweetness to it that overlaid everything else, even the salty breeze of the ocean. It had stuck to his fingers like glue; everything had felt like blood. He remembered stroking back a strand of Marissa's hair and…

He stopped his own train of thought, tearing his eyes wide open. Anonymous white walls were much better to look at that the picture generated by his memories. Eyes weren't supposed to be that dull.

A nurse entered the room, followed by Kirsten. "Hey Ryan. My name is Louise; I'll be taking care of you while you are here. Your mom told me you were hungry, is that right?"

It took him a moment to realise that she was talking about Kirsten. And really, he wasn't hungry at all, but he could hardly tell her that he had only been trying to keep the woman busy. Instead, he nodded. " A little."

"Well, that is good, a good sign." The nurse nodded approvingly and put a plate on the table beside his bed. "Just some light toast for now, as you have been vomiting quite a lot. If this agrees with your stomach, we will try something more interesting later. If there is anything else you need, please don't hesitate to call me." With those words she left the room, quietly closing the door behind herself.

Ryan took one of the slices from the plate and slowly began to eat. At least as long as he was chewing, Kirsten wouldn't expect him to speak. He still had no idea what to say.

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The next morning, Sandy came to pick him up and drive him home. Ryan felt quite uneasy at the prospect of sitting in a car with his foster father for a lengthy period of time, but knew there was no way around it. He had managed to avoid deep conversation with Kirsten the evening before by telling her that he was tiered again after finishing his toast, but now there was no escape.

They drove in silence for a while before Sandy cleared his throat.

"Ryan, I said this yesterday already, but I am not sure how much of it you remember. I am so incredibly sorry. This should never have happened, and I feel awful knowing that it happened to you."

Ryan kept himself from pointing out that nothing had happened to him. He was still alive, Marissa was the one who died. That thought made him pause. Somehow he had been able to avoid saying or thinking it like this up until now. Marissa died. Marissa was dead.

"Ryan?" Sandy tore him out of his thoughts, put a stop to the repeat of that sentence in his head. He forced himself to focus on the man driving the car.

"Yeah?" He had apparently lost his capability to speak whole sentences- not that that had ever been his strongest suit.

"You kind of drifted away there for a minute. Are you alright?"

He refrains from answering, instead just looking at the older man. Did Sandy forget that he wasn't supposed to be alright? Or had the rules changed again? Because while Ryan had no idea how he is feeling, is completely clueless as to how to categorize the chaotic mess of thoughts circling around in his head, chasing and contradicting each other, he knew that he was in no way alright. And given how messed up his mind was right now, he didn't think he was capable of pretending the way he usually did.

Apparently Sandy realised his mistake, as he shook his head with a murmured "never mind" and focused on the road again. "I just want you to know that I am here for you. And so are Kirsten and Seth. Whatever you need, whatever we can do to help you through this, do not hesitate to ask, ok?"

Ryan nodded, not voicing the thoughts that came to him unbidden. This was a situation in which he was allowed, in which he was expected to grieve. In Newport, you didn't mourn over the loss of your unborn child, you didn't cry over your brother in a coma. But you did grieve for the girl that you had been trying to break up with. Though maybe it wasn't about who the people were, maybe it was about where they came from. Maybe in Newport, you only grieved for people from Newport.

He shook his head again, trying to shake these useless thoughts off. He had no idea how to deal with this, but bringing up other things he (still) didn't know how to handle was not a way to escape the situation. He was only making things worse, confusing himself even more.

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When they had arrived, Kirsten had already been waiting for them. She had quickly explained that Seth was still "taking care of Summer" and Ryan had taken a moment to berate himself for not thinking of the girl who had lost her best friend before this. Then Kirsten had directed him to the guestroom, insisting that the pool house was to far away. Still not knowing how he felt about going back there, he had not protested too much.

Now he was lying on the bed, staring at the ceiling and willing himself to fall asleep. The doctor had apparently told Sandy that Ryan would need a lot of rest, and Sandy had translated that into strict bed rest at least for the reminder of the day. Ryan had a suspicion that taking care of him as if he was sick was easier for the Cohens than dealing with the reality of what had happened. Since he didn't know how to deal with it either, he didn't mind.

He heard someone entering and quickly closed his eyes. If they thought he was asleep, they wouldn't try to talk to him. His plan seemed to work, as he heard the door closing again quietly after a few seconds. Since he wanted to sleep anyway, he didn't bother to open his eyes again.

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Ryan was sitting at the kitchen counter, eating dry cereal out of the box reading the newspaper.

Seth was sitting beside him, carefully smearing a bagel with cream cheese. The sunshine coming in through the glass doors was almost blinding.

Kirsten came in, dressed in her usual busyness attire. "Morning, boys!" she said cheerfully, grabbing another bagel out of the basket.

Sandy came in, hair still wet from the ocean, still wearing his usual surfing attire. He nodded at the boys, kissed Kirsten on her cheek and, ignoring Seth's complaint about PDA, took the last bagel.

"Ryan" Kirsten said, managing to sound both exasperated and caring at the same time, "you really shouldn't be eating your cereal dry. Take some milk, will you?"

Knowing that there was no way to win this argument- after all, he never did- Ryan grabbed the milk carton from the counter and started pouring absentmindedly, while watching Seth's grimaces as his parents kissed each other again.

A sickening smell distracted him from the sight and trying to figure out what caused it, he looked down at the bowl of cereal. The liquid coming out of the milk carton was deep red and didn't look like milk at all.

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Ryan woke up with a start, sitting up in the guestroom bed while trying desperately to breathe. When that didn't calm him down, he bolted out of the bed, reaching the allocated bathroom just in time before he lost his fight against the nausea.

_you know you want to tell me what you think ;)_


	3. Chapter 3

disclaimer: Still don't own them. What, you thought that had changed since I last posted?

**Chaos Theory - Part 3**

When Ryan entered the kitchen the next morning, he had to fight to keep his eyes open. The few hours of sleep he had managed to get before his nightmare had woken him up had definitely not been enough, and afterwards he had been unwilling and unable to fall asleep again. Unfortunately, the bags under his eyes were hard to miss, so he was probably in for a lot of smothering by the Cohens today.

Apart form the fact that he usually felt more comfortable just taking care of himself, there had been an added strangeness to their hovering presence the other day. Over the last month, he had gotten so used to their absence that he did not know how to react to the way that suddenly they wouldn't let him out of their sight. Part of him enjoyed the knowledge that they were there for him, but another part couldn't help but reprimand himself for liking a consequence of what had happened to Marissa.

Marissa was dead. He had tried to keep himself from acknowledging it the day before, but after spending an hour in the bathroom last night, vomiting through the remembered smell of her blood, he could no longer close his eyes to the truth. Marissa was dead. And he had not been able to prevent it.

Ryan was surprised when his arrival in the kitchen was not directly followed by an onslaught of questions and well meaning offers of help. In fact, none of the Cohens seemed to be in there. He was getting ready to pour himself a cup of coffee- no cereal today- when he heard the front door open. Moments later, Kirsten and Sandy came in, each of them carrying bags of food.

"Ryan, honey, you're up!" Kirsten had obviously been caught of guard, as she had not yet been able to turn her voice into the quiet hush it had been the day before. Ryan nodded at both of them, trying to ignore the flash of worry I their eyes when they got a look at his tired face. Amazingly, they did not send him back to bed right away. Sandy merely looked at him compassionately and asked: "Couldn't sleep, huh? I'm sorry, kid." Ryan really wished people would stop apologising to him. He was not the one who had fallen of a cliff.

Ryan would have preferred to just have a fast, quit breakfast and to then return to the guestroom, but he knew that was not going to happen. He sat down on his usual stool by the counter and looked at his foster parents expectantly. Best to get it over with now.

"Ryan, I'm not going to ask you how you are doing, because there is no way you can be fine at the moment. What I am going to ask is if there is anything we can do for you. Whatever you need, Ryan."

"I know, I mean Kirsten already told me that yesterday. But really, I don't need anything. But, if you don't want to ask me anything, I do have some questions."

They looked at him expectantly and he had to gather his strength to continue. He needed to know he needed to know what was going to happen now. Only that way could he figure out what he had to do, what was expected of him. Ryan forced himself to meet their questioning gazes.

"When will the funeral be?" It was a simple question, that's why he choose to start like this. He wasn't sure he would have the strength to ask later.

Kirsten looked at Sandy, clearly uncomfortable. But she turns back to him and answers. "Tomorrow. There will be a joined memorial service for both of them first and then the funeral services will be held independently."

"Both of them?" Ryan didn't understand.

If he had thought they looked uncomfortable before, it was no comparison to what they looked like now. Sandy carefully cleared his throat. "Ryan, don't you remember? Johnny was up there with Marissa, he also…"

He doesn't continue, silenced by the flash of remembrance in Ryan's eyes. The boy lowers his gaze to the ground, breathing shallowly. How could he have just forgotten about Johnny? He was ashamed to realise that he had not spared the other boy a thought since the moment he had found Marissa. He hadn't even tried to help him. What if…

"Ryan?" Kirsten interrupted his train of thought. "Sweetie, are you ok?" She took his hands carefully and he realised that he was shaking. The roaring in his ears was caused by his hyperventilating, too fast, trying to gulp down air to fight the feeling of not being able to breathe. He met Kirsten's eyes; concentrated on the concern he saw in them and forced himself to calm down. "I forgot." he admitted, ashamed by the fact but to out of it to cover up the truth.

A hand was placed on his back, hesitantly as if asking for permission to touch him. "That's ok, kid" comes Sandy's deep voice from behind him "It's absolutely ok, don't worry about that."

Ryan just nodded, lowering his gaze once more and taking a sip of his coffee. He would not ask, even though a part of him desperately wanted to know. If I had helped him, would he have made it? He wouldn't ask, because the part that wanted to know was not as strong as the part that was afraid that the answer would be yes.

He feels knew without even looking at them that Sandy and Kirsten were getting ready for more talking, and suddenly he couldn't stand the thought. The thoughts repeating over and over in his head were to loud, roaring through his mind and making it impossible to concentrate on anything else. He needed to get out of there. But he didn't want to go back to the guestroom, not after spending the better part of the past night staring at the ceiling.

"Sandy, Kirsten? I think I could use some fresh air. Would it be ok if I went for a walk?" He was surprised how calm his voice sounded. He certainly didn't feel that way.

"Honey, I don't like the thought of you being alone right now. How about you wait a minute and then Sandy and will come with you." The offer was well meaning, but how was he supposed to bring order to the chaos of his brain when the Cohens were adding more disorder every time they said something.

"Thanks, but I'd rather go alone." He saw the scepticism in Sandy's eyes and hurried on "I promise I won't go far. Just walk down the beach a bit." Sandy's eyes gave him away, Ryan knew that he was giving in when he saw his reaction to the mention of the beach. His foster father understood the calming effect of being alone with the ocean; his lectures about it were what had caused Ryan to seek out its comfort in the first place.

"Take your mobile with you, ok? If there is anything you need, don't hesitate to call."

Ryan was about to insist that he wasn't sick and wouldn't need to call them for help, but he could see that Kirsten was getting ready to protest Against his going at all, so he just nodded, grabbed the phone from the counter- how had it gotten there anyway? - and left the kitchen through the patio doors.

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Ryan hadn't walked far, only far enough to no longer see the Cohens house, before sat down on the sand. He was quickly developing a headache, yet the voices in his head still did not want to quiet down.

If he had helped Johnny, would he have survived? And right after that question came the next one, just as potentially dangerous. Had he done everything he could to help Marissa? Had there been anything he could have done to save her? He wasn't a doctor, he had done what he could, but it had obviously not been enough. Was Marissa dead because he hadn't really known what to do?

He sat on the sand, staring at the ocean without actually seeing it. His hands had started to shake again, but he didn't even notice. Ryan had no idea how long he had been sitting there; repeating the same questions to himself when a new thought entered his mind.

What if Marissa hadn't been on the cliff at all? What if he had stuck with his plan and went up there himself? Wasn't that what he had been supposed to do, wasn't that why Kaitlin had called him for help in the first place. He remembered the panic in her voice when she had called him, remembered her question when he had arrived by her side: "Ryan? What are you doing down here? Why aren't you up there with Johnny, you're supposed to stop him." He had been supposed to stop Johnny. Had he done that, Johnny would still be alive and Marissa would never have come near that cliff. Had he done what he was supposed to do, no one would have died. He felt the nausea returning.

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When Ryan returned to the Cohens' house, he was not sure how much time had passed. He had gotten sick several times at the beach, even though there was nothing but bile left inside him. He wasn't sure if he'd ever get rid of the taste. The sight of Seth and Summer sitting in the den made him stop.

"Chino, hey." He didn't think he had ever heard Seth's girlfriend this subdued. Nor did he remember ever seeing her this dishevled. Her eyes were red rimmed, tear tracks on her cheeks leaving no question to the cause. Her hair was kept out of her face in a messy pony tail and she didn't appear to be wearing make-up. Her tiny body seemed to drown in what had to be one of Sandy's college sweaters.

Upon his arrival, she disentangled herself from Seth's protective embrace and came over to him, hugging him without any warning. She burrowed her face in his shirt and through her sniffing he could hear a barely audible "This is so horrible!" He simply nodded in agreement. She was the first one who hadn't told him she was sorry.

Seth came up to him next, eyeing him cautiously as if trying to judge his state of mind. Apparently, his face was for once not hiding his feelings very well, as his eyes were soon shadowed by concern. Seth not knowing what to say was not something Ryan was used to, but right now his best friend seemed to search for the right words without any success. In the end, the other boy settled for an awkward pat on his back. He didn't say "sorry" either. Seth knew how much he hated that word.

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They had all sat down on the couch in the den, not knowing what to say but forced to stay together due to Summers sudden need for physical contact, as well as an inexplicable urge not to let go off each other.

They didn't really talk, even Seth being at a loss for words, and instead just staring out the window. Summer started to cry several times and Ryan and Seth took turns handing her tissues from box on the coffee table. It felt slightly surreal, sitting there like that, but then Ryan thought that everything had felt surreal since he had seen Marissa fall.

Ryan had no idea how much time had passed like that when Summer coughed and then started to speak. "I feel like I am such a horrible person." He looked at her questioningly, but Seth had apparently heard this before, because he was fast to tell her "You're not. You are in pain and it is normal to be angry." Summer didn't seem to allow herself of the hook.

"But being mad at someone who is dead? Johnny is dead, Cohen, and I can't feel sorry for him. All I can feel is mad because he made her fall, too. And I know it wasn't on purpose, I know it was a horrible accident, but she was my best friend and she is dead because of him."

Ryan could feel himself tensing up as the roaring in his head that had quieted down a little while they had been sitting there gained in volume again. "She is dead because of him." It was true that she wouldn't have fallen if it hadn't been for Johnny. But it was also true that she wouldn't even have been up there if he had insisted on going himself. "I'm sorry" he said to Summer. And unlike the others, he really had something to apologise for.

_comment, please_


	4. Chapter 4

disclaimer: I wanted to buy them, but they weren't on sale and I can't afford the regular price.

AN: not really happy with this one, but I decided to post it anyway. Tell me what you think about it.

**Chaos Theory - part 4**

When Summer's dad came to pick her up, she didn't want to let go of Seth, and somehow the boy managed to convince both his parents and Dr. Roberts that it would be best for everyone involved if Summer spent the night. Apparently, the 'rents had decided that this was not the time to insist on the rules. Ryan had just been glad that they hadn't ended up arguing.

Dinner had been quiet and uncomfortable, every now and then Sandy or Kirsten would brake through the silence to ask if there was anything they could do, only to be answered by both Summer and Ryan mutely shaking their heads. They had given up after some time, probably convinced that there was no sense in trying to push them to talk about what was wrong. Ryan had appreciated the silence, as the conversation had done nothing to quiet the voices in his head.

Afterwards, they had all headed to bed, the grown ups anxiously eyeing them on their ways, seemingly at a loss and to afraid of saying the wrong thing to say anything at all. Ryan had entered the guestroom, closing the door behind himself. The room was absolutely quiet, and for a moment he welcomed the silence and the fact that no one was looking at him here. But when his gaze landed on marticularily made bed, he tensed up again. He really didn't want to spend another night like the one before. Ryan wasn't used to nightmares like that, he had no desire to get used to them.

But on the other hand, he didn't feel like he could stay up for much longer, either. It was weird, how exhausted one could be after a day of hardly doing anything. The fact that he had spent half the night before leaning over the porcelain bowl of the guestroom toilet probably hadn't made it any better, neither had the fact that he had hardly been able to get anything down during the days meals. Still he wasn't hungry.

In the end, Ryan decided to give in to his body's demands that he lay down and rest. But the expected nightmares didn't come, simply because he didn't fall asleep. Instead, he spent the next two hours tossing and turning around on the bed, trying without any success to get some rest. He was not sure if it was the fact the drugs he had been given at the hospital were completely out of his system or the fact that his mind was to active to fall asleep. What remained was that he kept staring at the ceiling, uselessly attempting to ignore the thoughts that were still running through his head, even louder and more insistently than before. Ryan had always hated being awake and thinking at night, for some reason everything always seemed even worse when you were lying like that.

The questions were still the same, he had not found any satisfying answers during the last hours. What if he had gone up to stop Johnny? Would he have been able to stop him? Maybe, maybe not. Marissa definitely wouldn't have been up there, she would still be alive.

Why hadn't he gone up to Johnny, the way he had planned to do? Why had he listened to Marissa, let her talk him out of it? Kaitlin had called because she had wanted him to help. She had expected him to go and stop Johnny. He had let her down, hadn't done what was expected of him and this was the result.

Why hadn't he been able to help Marissa? Was there something he could have, should have done differently? Had he failed to do something that could have saved her live? Had he let Johnny die, even though he would have been able to help if he had tried to do so? Ryan didn't know anything about first aid, other than how to cool down bruises and disinfect cuts, and maybe how to recognise an overdose in time to bring the person to the ER. Had his lack of knowledge caused the death of another person, maybe even that of two?

When he was finally convinced that sleep was not going to come anytime soon, Ryan sighed, detangled himself from the sheets and stepped out of the guestroom. Maybe some fresh air would be good for him, clear his head a little or at least get him tired enough to actually fall asleep.

Ryan made his way around the pool, towards the pool house. Being afraid of a building was senseless, he would have to go back there eventually. Better get it over with right there and then. He determinedly walked the rest of the way to the pool house and opened the door without any visible hesitation.

Inside, it was quiet, the sound of the waves outside held of by the glass doors. Weird, how you could see everything that was going on outside and yet be this closed off. It felt rather fitting. Heaving another sigh, Ryan let himself fall onto the bed.

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Ryan was startled awake by the sound of the pool house door slamming shut. He rubbed his eyes blearily and sat up, blinking against the bright light entering the room through the glass.

"Ryan? What are you doing still asleep? We have to get going, the funeral starts in less than an hour." Kirsten sounded exasperated and he didn't want to anger her even more, so he refrained from asking her what time it was and why no one woke him up before.

He opened the closed and for some reason, the only black piece of clothing he could find was the tux Kirsten had bought him for Cotillion. He didn't think it was the right thing to wear to a funeral, but he didn't seem to have choice, so he put it on.

They sat in the back of the church, which is filled to the last rows. He guessed it made sense, considering this was a service for two people at the same time. He was shaken out of his contemplation when Julie made her way towards the podium, her walk accompanied by the excited whispering of the crowd. Only when she cleared her head did the others quiet down.

"I do not need to tell you why we are here today. And I do not need to remind you what wonderful people we have gathered here to honour. But I would like to share something with you, something that my daughter Kaitlin confided to me as the most wonderful thing she had ever heard Johnny say to my daughter. You need to hear it, for there is no way I could say it better. "You and me, we fit. We are supposed to be together." I don't think there is anything I need to add to that." She took out a handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes, making her way back to her seat. Everyone bowed their heads and Ryan could hear Kirsten whisper to Sandy "That was beautiful."

They were all gathered outside, watching the caskets being lowered into the ground simultaniously. The sound of people sniffing made Ryan uncomfortable, he had never been good at dealing with crying people. Someone started speaking, and through the chokes Ryan could make out Summer's words. "There are clouds coming up. Good, the sun shouldn't be shining right now." Murmurs of agreement followed and Ryan lifted his head to the sky. Summer was right, clouds were quickly gathering and blocking the sky. He looked at the graves once more, stepping closer to be able to look down and Marissa's casket, covered in white flowers. Ryan wasn't sure what they were, but felt pretty certain he had seen the same ones at Cotillion, what felt now long a hundred years ago.

He felt something wet drop on his face and decided that rain was probably the appropriate weather. He looked back down and was startled to realise that the drops had started to cover the flowers in red. Lifting his hand to his face shakily, he discovered the same liquid coating his fingers, making them stick together. It smelled weird.

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Ryan woke up with a start, sitting up in the bed and gulping down air. The sound of his own breath was roaring in his eyes, multiplied by the silence surrounding him. The pool house was barely lit by the sunshine starting to stream through the windows, but the light was enough to let him see his hands. There was nothing red on them.

He fell back onto the bed with a groan, squesing his eyes shut again against the light. The nausea from the day before had returned with a vengence, but Ryan knew that there was nothing in his stomach left to vomit and therefore tried to fight the impulse. It wouldn't help, would only make his throat ache. Slowly, his breathing calmed down to a normal pace. Unfortunately, the same couldn't bee said for his thoughts.

"We fit" he repeated Johnny's words in his mind. "We are supposed to be together." The other boy had really believed that, he had really loved Marissa, loved her enough to have a break down when she refused to be with him. Ryan knew that he would never have reacted that way, knew that he would have been able to deal with loosing Marissa. After all, he had had weeks to prepare himself for he possibility and while he hadn't liked the thought, had been angry at his poor treatment by his girlfriend, it had never made him as desperate as it had obviously made Johnny. And what did that say about him? He had known back then that the relationship he had been klinging to had not been a good one, he had realised quite some time ago that the attraction and seemingly inevitable pull towards Marissa that had marked the beginning of his time in Newport was fading, if it was still there at all. Yet he had held on to it, hadn't been willing to simply cut his losses and move on. Why? Why hadn't he let Marissa go, allowed her to be with someone who's love made him more deserving of her.

"You're the reason I said no to him, you're the reason he is up there." He knew what Marissa had said was true. He had not only failed to give her the help she needed, failed to convince her that he should have gone up there instead, he had been the one who caused all of this. If he hadn't pressured Marissa into making a choice, she would still be alive. Ryan gave up the fight and rushed to the bathroom just in time.

_review, please_


	5. Chapter 5

disclaimer: No, I still haven't managed to buy them.

AN: This one is weird, even for me. And I am not very secure in my sports vocabulary, so there might be a bunch of mistakes in that section. Feel free to to correct me. _(That was me, begging for reviews ;)_

**Chaos Theory - Part 5**

The funeral wasn't as bad as it could have been. Ryan was actually grateful for Julie's barely concealed dislike of him, since it insured that she wouldn't ask him to say something. He had no idea what he could have said. He didn't believe "Sorry" was going to help anyone. Sorry was something people said to make themselves feel better, so they could say that they had atoned for their sins and therefore should be forgiven. He shouldn't.

Ryan didn't have to say anything, but Summer did, and he reminded himself once more that there were a lot of people suffering because of what had happened.

"I, I never thought, never imagined having to do this. When I sometimes thought about giving a speech for Marissa, in my imagination, I was always her maid of honour. We, we promised each other we would do that when we were in fifth grade. Back then, Marissa was absolutely convinced that Luke would be the groom. I guess things don't, they don't work out the way you imagine when you're a kid."

Ryan closed his eyes, not feeling able to stand the sight of Summer standing there, tears streaming down her face uncontrolled, her voice wavering with fought back sobs. He could hear Seth shifting next to him on the bench, and he would say he was inwardly complaining about how uncomfortable it was, if he didn't know that really, Seth was fighting the urge to run up to Summer and pull her away from the stand, take her as far away from all this as possible. Seth might be egocentric, but Ryan knew how much he loved Summer. Loving someone meant not wanting them to be in pain.

"Back then, when we fantasized about our weddings, Marissa made me promise that my speech wouldn't be full of embarrassing details about her as a kid, because her wedding would be _her_ day, and if I made a fool out of her, she would not allow me to be the godmother of her firstborn. I, I'm afraid that threat doesn't …I am going to tell you some stories, anyway. Because we're here to remember Marissa, and she wasn't always the Harbour beauty queen, and we should remember that, too."

Ryan remembered the conversation he had overheard between Summer and Seth, Summer choking out that they had been best friends since kindergarten, and how no one could understand what that meant, if he hadn't known her back then. As Summer went on, telling him and everyone else about the shy girl that had been sitting alone until Marissa had come up to her and asked her if she wanted to be her best friend, he realizes he wished he did. It sounds as if that young Marissa was full of the qualities that had attracted him to her in the first place, several life times ago. They had only been discernible in certain moments back then, and over the time had diminished completely. He wondered if, had he known her longer, he would have been able to cope with the change better, to accept the new Marissa the way Summer had. He wondered if that would have been enough.

Muffled sobs by his side shook him from his thoughts and he realized that Summer had stopped talking and had returned to her seat by Seth side. Chilly got up to the stand next, and Ryan was ashamed to realize he didn't want to listen, didn't really care what the boy had to say about his friend. It was probably horrible and selfish, but he didn't want to hear what a great guy Johnny had been. He didn't like judging people from what others said about them.

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The stood in line, waiting for their turn to throw flowers and dirt into the holes in the ground. The sun was burning down, warmer than usual for February, and it dried the ripped open ground, diminishing the smell of earth to a minimum. Sunglasses looked out of place at a funeral.

When it was his turn, he was relieved to see that the flowers placed on the coffin were not the Cotillion-white ones he had seen in his nightmare. The shovel of black dirt he threw into the hole landed with a dull thumb, and he stepped back quickly.

Letting his gaze wander around the graveyard, he saw that people had taken to pairing up. Sandy and Kirsten. Seth and Summer. Julie and Mr. Roberts. Johnny's friends and family were somewhere else, he didn't know where and was ashamed to realize he didn't care. Actually, he was relieved, glad that he did not have to face Mrs. Harper, didn't have to look at the woman who a week ago had a son, and now no longer did. He didn't know what he should say, because sorry sure as hell didn't cover it.

The only one else standing alone was Kaitlin, and the girl looked so lost, so small, so her actual age, that he felt compelled to go over to her, see if there was something he could do. He knew what it meant to lose an older sibling; even though dead to him was not the same as dead, period.

She looked up at him, and it had to be the first time he saw a Cooper without make-up. Her eyes were a swollen red, her nose colloured the same, raw from the tissues she had kept getting out of her purse all throughout the service.

She didn't say anything, instead surprising him by rushing into his arms, clinging to him, her small frame shaking with sobs. Wrapping his arms around her was instinctual. He was used to comforting crying women. The familiarity was oddly soothing.

He strained to understand the words coming out of her mouth in bursts, barely discernible from the choking sounds and hiccups.

"It's all my fault." That's the one he could hear clearly, and rushing to assure her it wasn't was just as automatic as the rest. Yes, she had called Marissa, but she hadn't caused her to climb up there, hadn't made Johnny get drunk. It wasn't her fault.

He contemplated telling her the truth, making her see that it was his, but he couldn't. Even if might make things easier on her; he wasn't ready to say it out-loud yet.

After a few minutes, Julie came over; calling her daughters name with a voice softer and more subdued than he ever heard Mrs. Cooper use, and the girl left his arms and rushed over to her mother, clinging to her instead.

Julie searched his eyes and he braced himself, gathering strength to take the inevitable accusation without a flinch. Her quiet "Thank you" returned his nausea faster than he would have thought possible.

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Ryan sat on his bed, berating himself for not keeping a spare pack of cigarettes anywhere in the pool house. God knew he could have used one right about now. He could have used a drink, too, but people drinking at funerals didn't turn out well in Newport. Plus, there was no liquor in the house. He reminded himself that this was a good thing.

He had left the graveyard as soon as was socially acceptable. On the drive home, he had stopped to throw up.

He knew how to deal with Julie Cooper when she was mad. He knew what to do when she yelled at him and held him responsible for everything from her daughter's private life to the sorry state of the third world. He had no idea how to handle Julie Cooper thanking him for consoling her daughter. Julie Cooper didn't say thank you. Definitely not to him.

The fact that this time, she would have actually been justified in pinning the blame on him didn't help at all. He wasn't sure why, but part of him had wanted her to yell at him, give him hell for what he had done. Maybe having the truth out for the entire world to acknowledge would have made him feel less like a fraud.

Ryan didn't like people who didn't take responsibility for their faults. Yet standing up and telling people what he had done seemed somehow impossible. He didn't even want to imagine the disappointment in the Cohens' eyes. The fact that he was worrying about what the revelation would mean for him, instead of focussing on the fact that he probably owed it to Marissa – and Johnny, too- that people knew the truth, added another layer to the mountain of accusations he kept repeating to himself in his mind.

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Ryan opened his eyes at the sound of music, recognizing the waltz-rhythm. He stepped out of the pool house and stopped short at the sight in front of him. Marissa. And Luke. She was wearing her Cotillion dress, and he was wearing a tux. They were dancing, Marissa's head on Luke's shoulder, Luke's arm wrapped around her in a possessive manner.

Ryan unconsciously took a step back, and the music momentarily droned out by the sound of glass braking. He had accidentally rammed a table. Now there were broken bottles on the floor, the liquor seeping between the shards, the smell of alcohol suddenly overpowering.

The noise had caused Luke and Marissa to stop dancing, and now they were facing him.

"You broke them." Marissa managed to make the short sentence sound incredibly accusing. "How dare you ruin my wedding?"

Only now did Ryan realize that she was wearing a veil. Identical gold bands on her and Luke's ring finger.

"I'm sorry. It was an accident."

"You shouldn't even be here. This is my wedding! I have been dreaming of this day since fifth grade!"

He was going to apologize again, but the sound of someone turning on a microphone and fake coughing stopped him.

"Hey everyone! My name is Summer, and as Marissa's maid of honour, I think I am responsible to explain to you exactly what we are witnessing today."

Ryan turned around, trying to figure out where she was and whom she was talking to. He found himself standing on the running track of some kind of sports arena. The ranks were filled with people, most of them to far away to recognize. The vip-lounges seemed to be filled with Newpsies and Harbour students.

"We are in the middle of the relay. Luke Ward has already finished his round and is now ready to hand over the torch to Ryan Atwood."

Sure enough, Ryan felt Luke press something into his hand. He didn't think the torch should feel this slippery and cold, and he didn't know why it was giving off sounds that reminded him of liquid sloshing around, but he ran of anyway, anxious to finish his round.

"Atwood was originally not supposed to be part of the team, but for reasons unknown to the public, he managed to secure himself a place. I guess we have to believe that coach Cohen knows what he is doing."

Ryan could hear distinct booing from the ranks and reminded himself not to listen. He just had to ignore them, the way he had to ignore the burning in his lungs and the heaviness of his legs. They really shouldn't have covered the tracks with sand.

"Atwood has reached the final metres of his round at last. Harper will have to run really fast if he wants to make up for the wasted time."

Johnny was standing there, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, arm outstretched to take the torch. Ryan lifted his own hand, wanting to pass the torch and be done with it. But something wasn't right.

"Damn. Looks like Atwood is screwing up the transfer. What, does he want the team to loose?"

It was as if the torch was glued to his hand. He lifted it to his hand and discovered that it was covered with a red, thick liquid. It was dropping down on the ground and running along the back of his arm. It smelled weird.

Johnny was grabbing the torch and trying to pull it out of Ryan's hand. It didn't come off.

"What the hell is Atwood doing?" Summer's voice was barely discernible from the shouts coming of the ranks, gaining volume steadily. "Why the hell doesn't he let go and allow Harper to fix this mess?"

Suddenly, the torch was ripped out of Ryan's hand, tearing of skin and flesh in the process. The separation was so sudden that Johnny lost his balance and fell over backwards. Ryan could hear a bottle breaking.

He didn't step closer to the edge of the cliff. He didn't want to see what else was broken.

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When Ryan was finally done dry heaving, he shakily got up from the bathroom floor. He was shivering after spending what seemed like hours crouched over the toilet, his knees numb and throat sore. He had to get out of there. He needed a cigarette.

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**review, please! If you don't comment, how am I supposed to know if I should continue writing this?**


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